#precious Thomas barrow

[papa-evershed]

Rob James-Collier as Thomas Barrow DOWNTON ABBEY

[archieimagines]

Discontinued Fandoms Masterlist

This is a compilation of all the works we’ve posted for fandoms we no longer write for. The writing itself will always be kept here for you to enjoy!

Check our main masterlist here!

American Horror Story

Imagines:

Cordelia Foxx | Imagine becoming the new Supreme

Big Bang Theory

One Shots:

Sheldon Cooper | Prove the Theory

Headcanons:

Sheldon and Leonard | Sheldon’s little sister sharing the apartment

Black Sails

Imagines:

Charles Vane | Imagine Charles Vane promising you a future by his side

The Breakfast Club

Imagines:

John Bender | Imagine Bender helping you find the library for detention

DC Universe

One Shot:

Hal Jordan | Get Your Own Jello

Deadpool

Preferences:

How they cuddle  |  Part 2 

Divergent

Imagines:

Will | Imagine Will teaching you martial arts

Doctor Who

Imagines:

10th Doctor | Imagine being with the 10th Doctor in Paris

12th Doctor | Imagine being in a band with the 12th Doctor

Downton Abbey

One Shots:

Thomas Barrow | Such A Charmer

The Flash

Headcanons:

Barry Allen | Dating Barry would include

Friends

Imagines:

Joey Tribbiani | Imagine having a crush on Joey

Headcanons:

All | Having a night out with the group would include

Glee

Imagines:

Noah ‘Puck’ Puckerman | Imagine Puck getting jealous over you

Grey’s Anatomy

One Shots:

George O’ Malley | 007

Owen Hunt | Major Owen Hunt | My Choice

Hairspray

Imagines:

Corny Collins | Imagine Corny telling you “Hey baby, looks like you could use a stiff one.”

Hawaii 5-0

One Shots:

Chin Ho Kelly | Mistakes

Danno Williams | Save Me

Hemlock Grove

Imagines:

Roman Godfrey | Imagine Roman missing your hints that he’s an upir

KINGSMAN MASTERLIST

LOST

Imagines:

James ‘Sawyer’ Ford | Imagine Sawyer not wanting to give your bag back James ‘Sawyer’ Ford | Imagine Sawyer not realising he’s stolen your medication James ‘Sawyer’ Ford | Imagine having your first time with Sawyer James ‘Sawyer’ Ford | Imagine Sawyer noticing that Jack is your ex

Kate Austen | Imagine Kate comforting you when you lose a precious necklace

Sayid Jarrah | Imagine falling asleep on Sayid Sayid Jarrah | Imagine being selectively mute and only speaking to Sayid Sayid Jarrah | Imagine Sayid saving you Sayid Jarrah | Imagine Sayid scaring you when he turns ‘bad’ Sayid Jarrah | Imagine finding a pool with Sayid Sayid Jarrah | Imagine finding out Sayid is touch-starved

Shannon Rutherford | Imagine lending Shannon your inhaler

One Shots:

James ‘Sawyer’ Ford | Sandbox  |  Part 2

Preferences:

First Kiss

Night At The Museum

Imagines:

Kahmunrah | Imagine Kahmunrah falling in love with you

The Maze Runner

Imagines:

Gally | Imagine Gally falling in love with you Gally | Imagine trying to come up with a plan to be with Gally

NCIS

Imagines:

Leroy Jethro Gibbs | Imagine Gibbs reluctantly cuddling with you

One Shots:

Leroy Jethro Gibbs | His Closest Friend

Park And Rec

Imagines:

Ben Wyatt | Imagine comforting Ben after the Ice Town incident

One Shots: 

Andy Dwyer | “Holy shit, you know Santa!”

Ben Wyatt | Happy Secrets

Peaky Blinders

One Shots:

Tommy Shelby | Eavesdrop

Preacher

Imagines:

Cassidy | Imagine being in a relationship with Cassidy Cassidy | Imagine getting up to mischief with Cassidy

Pushing Daisies

Imagines:

Emerson Cod | Imagine Emerson knitting you a sweater for Christmas Emerson Cod | Imagine being Emerson’s assistant

Ned the Piemaker | Imagine Ned falling in love with you when you become a regular Ned the Piemaker | “You’re covered in flour.” Ned the Piemaker | Imagine Ned baking you a pie

Reign

One Shots:

Sebastian ‘Bash’ de Poitiers | Real France  |  Part 2

Riverdale

Imagines:

Archie Andrews | Imagine everyone noticing you and Archie like each other Archie Andrews | Imagine being a Serpent that Archie falls for

Jughead Jones | Imagine editing Jughead’s manuscript Jughead Jones | Imagine becoming Jughead’s friend

Reggie Mantle | Imagine Reggie liking you

Sweet Pea | “Open your present!”

Veronica Lodge | I dressed down in this catwoman outfit for you and my party boob keeps escaping

One Shots:

Archie Andrews | Worry

Jughead Jones | Misery Loves Company

Sweet Pea | Blood, Tears, and... Corn?

Shadowhunters

Imagines:

Jace Wayland | Imagine Clary trying to go for Jace when he’s already dating you

Teen Wolf

Imagines:

Lydia Martin | Imagine Lydia helping you figure out which supernatural creature you are

Stiles Stilinski | Imagine helping Stiles through his night terrors Stiles Stilinski | Imagine being Scott’s little sister and having a crush on Stiles | Part 2  Stiles Stilinski | Imagine Stiles reacting to you getting terrible anonymous messages Stiles Stilinski | “Fine, you can put the topper on the tree.” Stiles Stilinski | “My gingerbread house is prettier than yours.”

One Shots:

Brett Talbot | His Angel

Stiles Stilinski | Unsteady Stiles Stilinski | Not Anymore Stiles Stilinski | Jealousy

Theo Raeken | In the Neighbourhood (kinda NSFW)

Headcanons:

Stiles Stilinski | Dating Stiles would include Stiles Stilinski | How Stiles reacts to you breaking up with him Stiles Stilinski | Taking Stiles to meet your parents would include

Theo Raeken | Dating Theo would include

X-MEN

Imagines:

Erik ‘Magneto’ Lehnsherr | Imagine Erik trying to help with dinner by using his powers Erik ‘Magneto’ Lehnsherr | “You’ve never had a New Year’s kiss?”

Charles ‘Professor X’ Xavier | “Why does the house smell like a cinnamon roll threw up?”

Charles and Erik | Imagine being recruited into the X-Men by Charles and Erik

Wolverine / Logan | Imagine stealing Logan’s motorbike to get his attention after having a crush on him for so long

[jomiddlemarch]

Dawn was theirs

It was a glorious English autumn day when the Courcelette survivors arrived at Downton. Sybil wasn’t certain any of the men could appreciate the brilliance of the light falling across the green fields, gilding the towers, the ruddy leaves of the oaks along the winding drive. Four of the men were insensible, two had grubby bandages wrapped around their eyes, long overdue for changing, and the last, young, slender, dark-haired, gazed at something beyond any comprehension, murmuring all this is ended as if it were a nun’s litany.

Walter Blythe remained unconscious for four days.

*

Matthew had turned his face to the wall when Mary approached, wept when he thought no one would notice. He was very polite, very cold, bitter, a fallen angel. Mary stood in the hall and wrung her hands before she came into the room where he lay, her heartbreak in the shadow of her dark eyes, the trembling palm she pressed against her breast. Sybil hadn’t thought any other soldier would pose as great a challenge, for they had all known Matthew before he went off to war and he was precious to them, even to Granny, who’d never admit it but still visited and sat with him for the fifteen minutes expected of a social call.

Walter Blythe, burned, broken, his face spared, seemed unreachable. One of the other men had been in his company and spoke highly of him, describing a man uncomplaining, steady, a doctor’s son who wasn’t at all squeamish about lice or dysentery. Then he shocked them by telling them Walter was a poet, the renowned author of “The Piper,” one of Canada’s most honored sons.

Walter had been mute for a fortnight after he’d opened his eyes.

* 

Sybil tried, but she’d couldn’t conceal the fact that Walter was a favorite of hers. She lingered by his bed, eager to fetch him a book from the library, the paper, a fresh cup of tea. He was easy to be fond of him and if doting by the nursing staff were enough to heal a man, he’d have been up and sent back to the Front in a week.

“It’s because I have sisters,” he said, he told her, when she admitted to him that she was idling and he didn’t truly need his pillows plumped yet again. “You’d like them, Di especially. She’s determined to become a VAD though what she really wants is to become a doctor like Dad.”

He was like that, Walter Blythe, charming and well-spoken, sharing bits of his life before the War, always wholesome and cheerful, making it seem to the nurses that he was unchanged from the man who’d set off from the Glen. The other patients enjoyed listening. It was a respite from the pain and boredom of recoveries that would only ever be incomplete.

He fooled everyone but Thomas Barrow.

*

Thomas watched Walter when no one else was looking. 

At rest, if there was such a thing, Walter’s face had an expression of blank horror, as if he looked into an abyss seething with the most monstrous visions, agony and annihilation. He pressed his lips together to keep from calling out, screaming, though not for help, for Thomas could see Walter believed he was beyond any assistance, befouled in a way that could never be made clean.

He shied away from the touch of any of the nurses, Sybil most especially, though he forced himself to be tended.

He ate little, crumbling rolls with his barely functional left hand, the right still bandaged. It wasn’t clear if another surgery would restore even the least function there, old Clarkson preferring to wait and see how Walter did overall, putting on weight, expressing any interest in getting out of the ward they’d made of a drawing room.

He liked music, better if it came from another room. He’d finish his cup of tea if Thomas stirred in another lump of sugar but left it black. He frowned whenever anyone mentioned his famous poem and never asked for the journal and pencil Sybil brought when she discovered he was a writer. He didn’t hate the Germans, never called them Huns.

He never wanted to re-read the letters he was sent from home.

*

Thomas didn’t exactly hang about, but he knew how to be present when he was needed. It was a skill that had helped him advance in service, though Carson frequently gave him his version of a dirty look if he noticed him lurking in a manner unbecoming an under-butler. 

Thomas wore his uniform, was caring for sick men, doing the heavy work that only the oldest and toughest of the nurses undertook. 

He ignored Carson. 

He paid attention to Walter.

The man had turned Sybil away when she offered to write another letter home for him, to his younger sister or his mother. Walter had smiled and thanked her and declined, with such grace Sybil walked away glowing, as if he’d granted her dearest wish.

Thomas knew this was his time to come round. That Walter would want to talk but only to someone who could understand.

"She writes a fair hand," Walter said, his voice rough, the words picked out slowly, his grey eyes trained on the man in front of him. The letter in his hand was a distant afterthought. "But they won't be satisfied until it's me writing them, Barrow. They won't ever be satisfied."

He began to turn his face away when Thomas spoke.

“No, I don’t suppose they ever will be. But you might be, Blythe. You might.”

*

“Not much like home,” Thomas said. He’d wheeled Walter out to the gardens, the prospect of fresh air alleged to tempt the men back to health. He’d not seen it make much difference and Nichols had wept and screamed to be brought back inside, but Mrs. Crawley kept fussing about it and he’d welcomed the chance for some conversation that couldn’t be overheard by a nurse or Carson. Walter had acquiesced because he did that and because Thomas had volunteered to manage his chair.

Now they sat together in the sunshine, a blanket over Walter’s lap, the sky a perfect blue. An idyll of a sort. Their sort.

“Not very. Beautiful but not like the Glen. Nor Rainbow Valley,” he said. 

“What’s Rainbow Valley?” Thomas asked. Once he would have sounded snide or mocking but today, Walter looking across the manicured grounds, something almost like a smile on his lips, Thomas only wanted to hear more.

“The woods behind Ingleside. Where I grew up. We had the run of it. I knew every tree there,” Walter said.

“On your own, were you?”

“Sometimes. Jem and I, he’s my older brother, we’d staked out our favorite spots, but we let the others come along. Jerry and Carl, Shirley, and the girls—Nan and Di, Faith. Una. But I went alone too. That’s where I wrote, most often,” Walter said. He had a big family and a number of friends, all of them happy and hale, a cheerful father who never laid a hand on them. A mother they all worshipped, who came to them in the night when they were ill or scared. A far cry from Thomas’s childhood but he didn’t find any envy within himself when Walter spoke of them.

Walter didn’t want to go home.

“Poetry, right?” Thomas said. “What you wrote.”

“You could call it that,” Walter said, making the gesture that was now his version of a shrug. 

“You don’t?”

“What did I know of the world, Barrow? I don’t think I could ever read what I wrote then,” Walter said. “It’s all bloody fucking pretty nonsense—”

“Maybe you were just young,” Thomas said. Walter’s eyes had a frantic look of a man about to break down. Thomas reached over, touched Walter’s arm where it rested on the chair. 

“I was young,” Walter said. “I dreamed such dreams. And now I can’t remember them without  wanting to be sick.”

“That passes,” Thomas said.

“You sound so certain,” Walter replied.

“I’ve got to be,” Thomas said. A confession. 

“It’s that way, then?” Walter asked.

“Just so,” Thomas answered.

*

“She’s got a face like a flower,” Walter said as Sybil walked across the room. Thomas had come over to tell her the Earl was asking for her, but it had been an excuse. A poor one, far weaker than anything he would have allowed himself before the War. Walter kept watching Sybil. Thomas felt his gorge rise.

“Thought you said you weren’t a poet anymore,” Thomas remarked.

“That’s not poetry,” Walter said. “It’s an observation any man here would make.”

“Not the way you made it,” Thomas said flatly.

“Is it an argument you want, Barrow?” Walter said. There was something in the way he said want, the way he said Barrow, something direct and stunning. It was irresistible.

“It’s what I can get,” he said.

There was a curious expression in Walter’s grey eyes that could never have been there before the trenches. Thomas suspected it had been there when Walter led the charge at Courcelette. When he hadn’t expected to return to the world.

“So sure,” he said softly. “So wrong.”

“Seems to me you’re arguing with me right now, Blythe,” Thomas said.

“I’m not arguing. I’m observing,” Walter said.

“Safer that way, isn’t it?” Thomas replied, giving them both an out. He looked down at his feet, the uneven shine on his boots. His hands resting on his thighs, the bandage around the maimed one. His ticket home, he’d thought it, before he got back to Downton and realized there wasn’t any leaving, only trying to find someone who was caught in the same way. Who cared, who could see a flower and turn away from its loveliness.

“Nothing’s safe. Not anymore,” Walter said. “Maybe it never was and I was just pretending—”

“Maybe you think too much,” Thomas said.

“What else do I have to do?” Walter said. 

“Ask for me,” Thomas heard himself say. He was shocked by the words, uttered aloud, a secret. A wish.

“I shall keep that in mind,” Walter said. 

*

Walter wasn’t getting any better.

That was Clarkson’s diagnosis, not Thomas’s, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t disagree with the man. Sybil, external optimist, pointed out that Corporal Blythe was able to stay awake for longer periods and had not turned away a meal in a week, and they all nodded, because those things were true.

They didn’t signify, not when it came to Walter’s progress. They were exhausting what could be done for him at Downton. Had done, except that no one liked to disappoint Sybil and there hadn’t been an urgent need for an empty bed. It couldn’t last.

“I’m an old crock, aren’t I, Barrow?” Walter said, not bitterly.

“If you exerted yourself more—”

“I have done. It’s no use,” Walter said. He smiled, his unmarked face terribly handsome, his hair in need of a cut. He’d begun to go grey, not only at the temples but scattered throughout. “I shan’t write again and I think I must become accustomed to this chair.”

“You’d put yourself in a grave if you could,” Thomas snapped.

“Yes. I think you’re right about that,” Walter said. “But I won’t do anything…foolish. I’m not capable of it. Just of being a fool, sickening on my folly—”

“Are you quoting someone again? Remember, that’s wasted on me,” Thomas said.

“No. A flight of fancy, a glimpse of Walter-Before. I told you, you wouldn’t care for him.”

Thomas turned and faced Walter directly. It was a rare gesture; most often Thomas was off to the side, pushing the chair, engaged in some work. Watching Walter across a room, obliquely. Concealed.

“You’ve got to try,” he said. “Else—”

The pause was long, long enough for another conversation to fill it, one of exhortation and coaxing, reassurance and even, possibly, declaration. 

“Time has been friend to neither of us,” Walter finally said. He knew about Thomas’s father the clockmaker and Thomas’s War. He knew that men at Downton didn’t go back to the Front, but they didn’t stay longer than a few months. They went to Glenside or Allison Court. Or they were sent home. 

“If you’d only try, Blythe,” Thomas said.

“Get me a pencil then,” Walter replied. “I need to be able to write my own letters.”

*

“Dear Thomas,

I find I cannot address you here as Barrow, though it was all that I called you at Downton Abbey. I will admit it was not the only way I thought of you by the end of my time there and I hope you don’t find that presumptuous, nor this letter. You did tell me to try and look where that’s landed me.

Oxford, as you must know from the envelope, if not through some other channel. I imagine Mrs. Crawley might have mentioned what became of poor Corporal Blythe. She is a kind lady, but she very much reminds me of a family friend, a Mrs. Rachel Lynde, who is famous for her forceful opinions and her determination to keep tabs on anyone who has ever crossed her path. Mrs. Crawley is perhaps a generation younger, but made in the same mold. If she is not quite as well-informed as Mrs. Rachel, I’ll explain what happened.

I couldn’t go home. 

It was not only the risk of the ship being sunk in the crossing, nor the difficulty my limited mobility posed, nor the expense my family might incur trying to make the trip comfortable and me even more a ruined crock dependent on their management and pocket-book. (I must inform you that writing a celebrated war-poem doesn’t yield any significant financial success and you have a good idea of what’s found in a corporal’s pay-packet.) I couldn’t make the journey and then arrive at the train station in the Glen, my family and all their closest friends and half the town lined up, scrubbed and dressed as if for a wedding, flowers and Susan’s best cake waiting for me at Ingleside. I couldn’t make my way off that train and face them, knowing what I know, being who I am now. And even less could I have faced every day thereafter, the praise and reassurance and consolation, their pride and their poorly concealed pity, the guilt in my father’s eyes, the gratitude in my mother’s. Of everyone, I could only imagine Una Meredith greeting me and not making me feel like a monster and as much as I love them all, I have to live with myself.

I left university to enlist and I need the chair more than you think I ought and I can’t expect my father to put me up in a London flat to molder, but I am a well-regarded poet of no little renown, at least at this moment, when all the better poets are trying to escape being gassed or shot, so I wrote to Oxford and they agreed to let me come and finish my degree and very likely become one of those Oxford dons who is never without their gown. A gown hides a multitude of injuries, I’ve discovered, from those around you and sometimes from you yourself, and when I cannot think of how to turn the page, I can pleat the Russell cord with my good hand and pay attention only to the texture of the material. It helps a little.

Other things do as well. The town is so very beautiful and so different from the Glen and the Front. It is a place that does well with ghosts, so the relative absence of young men isn’t felt quite so much, and the smell of the stone and the old books is a tonic. It can be hard to get around, but that’s true for many of the elderly professors. The tea is not as as well-brewed as Mrs. Patmore’s but that was to be expected. My coursework occupies me, the distance of the past a balm. I believe if I could study the people here before the Druids, I’d find that even more comforting, but allegory and mysticism suit me well. I’ve begun to learn Old English and if I can’t find it within myself to write poetry, I can at least appreciate those old works and take respite there.

You must be frowning at my nonsense or wishing I’d written something more practical. I couldn’t blame you—I don’t, Thomas. I miss you, that expression in your blue eyes and the curl of your lip, your calm, your sense of shadows. I should have asked any number of questions before I left Downton Abbey, but I didn’t, so I must ask them now and hope for the best. I have no idea what leave you are entitled to and how you choose to use yours; I know you don’t have the same rapport with your sister as I had with mine, but I don’t know if you have friends you’d visit or prefer to travel to London and escape the country. I don’t know if you would want to come and see me but I would like it, very much. I could promise not to ramble on too much about old manuscripts or interrogate you about Dr. Clarkson and la belle dame Lady Mary. We might go punting on the Cherwell, though you’d have to do the work while I regaled you from a position of repose, or I could stand you a pint or three at the King’s Arms. The porter for my hall is rather a friend of mine and would find a camp-bed if I asked, so you needn’t fret about finding lodgings. It would be just as you like, for as long as you like.

You told me once to ask for you. And now, Thomas, I have. Will you come?

Walter.”

@tortoisesshells gave me "my Heart -- my Eye outweighs" as a fic I wouldn't write but then I did write it, though I renamed it.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Traintober Day 1- Moon Under the Pale Light

Day 1-moon

Other Stories

Under the Pale Light

August 1963

Scotsman rolled into the North Western's  Barrow in furness freight depot quietly, the light from the moon seeming to swirl about him in the mist. The five engines behind him had fallen asleep early in the four hour trip from Great Bridge. The depot was quiet with the late hour, even the porters seemingly gone.

As he pulled to the end of the platform he spotted the two engines waiting for him. One faced the same direction as him, a large Great Western pannier tank, painted in their colors despite that railway having been out of existence for over a decade. The other faced towards him. It was a smaller sidetank, blue with red stripes, and the reason he was here.

"Greetings Caomhnóir, thank you for agreeing to come with so little warning..."

"Nonsense!" The pannier broke out, "We'd be more than heartless to turn away engines indeed." He then blushed at having interrupted the larger engine.

The North Western's number one smiled softly, "Duck is right. Sodor will alway welcome those in need. Especially in these dark days."

Scotsman smiled at both tank engines, "Nonetheless I thank you. These engines owe you their lives, and thanks is all I have to give you."

"Thanks should never be required for doing the right thing."

Scotsman's smile grew larger, " I'm glad to see Truro was right about you. Great Western through and through.

"City of Truro remembered me?" Duck asked hesitantly

"Indeed." Scotsman said with amusement, "He often speaks fondly of the pannier 'Montague' teaching your ways to the North Western."

The sidetank chuckled at the other engine’s pleased blush. Then glanced back at the sleeping engines behind Scotsman and his expression turned grim.  

Noticing this Duck asked, "Is everything all right Thomas?"

Thomas closed his eyes and gave a long deep sigh, "As best as can be given the circumstances. These engines will certainly remember you now, even if they didn't before."

The Pannier went very, very still. 

"They're Great Western?" The engine’s voice was tight, with grief or anger Scotsman wasn't sure.

"You didn't know?" he asked.

"No, Caomhnóir only said that we needed to help save some engines from the mainland." He glanced over to the engine in question with a questioning, slightly hurt expression.

"I knew there was a chance they were GWR since they came from Great Bridge, but I didn't know for certain." He said calmly.

"Far better a bittersweet surprise than bitter disappointment." 

"Exactly."

The Great Western was silent for a moment, then sighed, "I apologize Caomhnóir, I know you don't keep secrets that you don't have too" He paused, "and you were right not to get my hopes up. I don't think I would have taken it well if you were wrong."

The blue engine's eyes were soft with sympathy, "It's always different with family." He said kindly, "and there's no bigger family than the Great Western."

He glanced back to Scotsmans precious cargo, "There are two 47s, a 94, and a pair of 97s."

Scotsman was surprised that the NWR engine could recognize the engines on sight, but he got an explanation a moment later.

"You remembered," the pannier voice was stunned and touched in equal measure. Scotsman got the impression another engine actually remembering what he said was a rare occurrence.

"Unlike the big engines, I actually listen to you." The side tank's tone was all dry amusement. 

The two tank engines chuckled together,

then Thomas straightened, " Scotsman do you wish to see Gordon while you're here?"

Scotsman hesitated, then sighed and shook his head, " I can't. I need to get back before sunrise so no one realizes I was gone."

Thomas nodded grimly, "There's a turntable for you to turn around, and a goods headed to the mainland if you need a cover. If you have your crew write a letter for him, we'll see it gets to Gordon. Duck ounces he's uncoupled, you'll be taking the 47s to Crovan's Gate. Mr. Stephen has a cover ready for them, so they can be put back into service. I'll take the others." 

"Good luck you two. Dry rails and smooth running." Scotsman pulled away from the platform and rolled smoothly over to the turntable. As he turned around, he saw the pannier back down on the two tender engines and gently pull them away towards the bridge to the island. Once he was turned around, Scotman's crew ran him forward to the water tower and walked back to fill his tender. As the blue sidetank backed towards the remaining three engines, Scotsman looked towards the moon, seemingly glowing more brightly than normal. "My Lady, if you are listening, please watch over Caomhnóir. He has a heavy burden to bear indeed." The light running over his boiler grew cold as if in offense.

"I know he is capable, you would not have chosen him otherwise, but he bears the fate of far two many of our kind on his frames. It would not be well for him to save so many of us from our fates, only for us to fail him." The light grew warm again and seemingly caressed his smokebox.

Scotsman smiled, "Thank you my lady, if he ever needs help, do not hesitate to call me, I will answer."

As if in reply a deep whistle echoed across the water. Scotsman smiled as he heard his brother for the first time in years. He rolled forward towards the goods platform. Times may be dark, but the Lady was still with them.

[just-two-blokes]

I do have several comfort characters. But none of them taught me as much as Thomas Barrow. Because Thomas taught me some life lessons that are worth listening to.

Thomas taught me that it's okay not to be okay.

Thomas taught me that it's okay being overwhelmed with life and needing a break.

Thomas taught me that I'm not a bad person for thinking bad things when I'm upset or hurt.

Thomas taught me that being able to be your true self is one of the greatest gifts in life.

Thomas taught me that there will always be people who love you no matter what.

Thomas taught me that real friendships are a rare gift that is as precious as the most beautiful roses.

And Richard Ellis?

He taught me to be more circumspect :)

[drawredasdawn]

Flufftober 2022: EsDeFan

Day 1: Blind Date (Maven and Thomas)

Day 2: Masked Ball (Mare and Evangeline)

I’ve started doing very short sketches for the month of October and picking/letting my friends pick ships/duos to draw. This batch should have also included day 3 (Fake Baby) and 4 (Shared Crafts) but i struggled very hard with these two as I chose Farley and Shade for the first and then wanted to do little calore brothers for the second and i have no perception of Shade Barrow in my head and i have a bad track record of drawing children.

I may go back at a later date render these drawings but for now im trying to make quick, easily perceived drawings to teach myself to draw faster and be much less precious with my art.

[fundiesimsfamily]

Babynews

We can't be more excited! Our family is growing once again. Baby Freeman #11 is on the way. We can't thank the Lord enough for all his blessings. Kylian&Samantha, Daniel, Josiah, Vivian, Levi, Amos, Martha, Naomi, Phillip, Caleb and Esther Freeman

We thank the Lord for the safe arrival of our precious daughter, Ivanna. Everything is good with Lydia and Ivanna. Timothy&Lydia Barrow, Christa, Heather, Rick, Isabella, Samuel, Thomas

We are expecting another baby. We can't wait for our little tiebreaker to arrive. Justin&Supriya Delgato, Pierce, Evie, Stacy, Niel

We have been blessed with the birth of another healthy daughter. We named her Hailey. She is loved by all. Ethan&Mathilde Barrow, Robyn, Eleonore, Caroline, Hardey, Zoë, Nova, Maya, Tyler

Our baby girl has arrived! We are so in love with our little bundle of joy. We named her Abby. She is so tiny and precies. Alexander&Ayla Goth

Edith is going to be a big sister! We are thrilled to announce that baby Kenley #2 is on the way. We thank the Lord for blessing us with another gift. Jordan&Susan Kenley, Edith

After being blessed with a girl last year, we now have been blessed with a precious baby boy. We have named him Harry. Shania is still learning to be a big sister but she is doing great adjusting to not being the baby of the family anymore. Max&Grace Villareal, Shania

[everythingcanadian]

Crisp Edges, Softened

Pairing: Jimmy Kent/Thomas Barrow (Downton Abbey)

Rating: G with suggestions.

No Warnings

Summary:

Day 1 of prompter: Crisp. A smoke break with quiet cues.

AO3 LINK

Smoke curls up from Thomas’s lips. The cold stings his eyes and bites at the tender skin he has to keep licking to stay wet and from cracking. His lungs ache with each inhale. The autumn air around him is crisp and sharp. Winter is closing in quicker than he likes. His hand will start to hurt more and for longer. Even though he has help now it still won’t calm the pain entirely. 

Speaking of help. Thomas can see from his place between the brick pillars as Jimmy escapes the throngs of the downstairs populace. The way the younger man upturns his coat collar to shield his neck from the cold. He has Thomas’s scarf on too, a nice dark grey pressing snugly against his throat. Thomas will kiss Jimmy later where the soft wool is now. Hoping to bring sounds from the younger man that are just as crisp in sound as the air is in Thomas’s body and nostrils.

Pale sunshine barely does its job to warm the air, only really shining a spotlight on their breath escaping them. It’s a nice reminder that they are both alive. Here together in a tiny space of time they save for each other. Thomas takes another deep breath and winces slightly as he feels it scrape down into him, filling him up and taking all the heat it can get before he exhales in a soppy sigh as Jimmy stops in front of him.

Jimmy’s smile is fuzzy and warm when he gives it to Thomas. Never needing to ask for a cigarette, Thomas opens his pack and hands one over. His hands shake a little as he flicks his lighter open and lights the stubby wick with a swift grind of flint and the small wheel. Those deep blue eyes look up at Thomas’s, leaning in and sucking in short bursts to help catch the paper on fire. 

Their hands are cold when they reach out for each other, Thomas with his cigarette in his mouth and Jimmy’s pinched between his middle and pointer finger of his right hand. They smile quietly between each other. They take the silence and mold it into precious few moments where the bite of the crisp air doesn’t penetrate their intermingling heat. Jimmy lets go first to shove his hand into his coat pocket, and to take a long drag and burn his lungs hot rather than cold. 

The smoldering tobacco between the pair of them softens the edges of the crisp autumn afternoon. Jimmy’s cheeky smile lightens Thomas’s mood that little bit more. Despite working for toffs, they have it pretty good. The hickies under Thomas’s uniform agree with his sentiment. As does the way Jimmy is looking at him with heat that will simmer under the surface until they are free for the evening after supper.

[mainscircles]

Beatrix winx

#Beatrix winx series#

#Beatrix winx tv#

It also revolved around a group of teen fairies with unique abilities. Additionally, she studied A-Levels at the Emanuel School and graduated in 2020. She is a creative, skilled artist who is Brandon's fiancée. She starred in CITV's sci-fi series The Fugitives and had a brief appearance in Grantchester. With Abigail Cowen, Hannah van der Westhuysen, Precious Mustapha, Eliot Salt. She is an actress who began her career in 2019. "You will burn if you fall asleep like this" She warned him as she turned the page to her book. She is the thirtieth ranked student within the Venterrus Flight Institute's first class.

#Beatrix winx tv#

As of this writing, Soverall has worked in just two tv shows. Sadie Soverall as Beatrix in Fate: The Winx Club Saga Season 1.

#Beatrix winx series#

Eve Best shot to fame with her role in Showtime series Nurse Jackie. It is produced by Archery Pictures in association with Rainbow, a studio co-owned by Iginio Straffi and ViacomCBS. Created by Iginio Straffi, the series is produced by Archery Pictures in association with Rainbow - the latter being a studio that Straggi co-owns with ViacomCBS. Aside from her role in Fate, Abigail Cowen plays Dorcas Night on Netflix's Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. To see all content on The Sun, please use the Site Map. A London based talent agency called Waring & McKenna represents Sadie. Katie Price to marry fiance Carl Woods this year for terminally ill mum, Emmerdale spoilers: Aaron rushed to hospital after being attacked by Eric. She earned a net worth of approximately $ 700,000 to $ 800,000 from her acting career. She often attends parties and outdoor functions. Now let's talk about the income of tv actors. Don’t miss to subscribe to our new feeds, kindly fill the form below. Freddie appeared as Chris Chahal in Halen Coben's Safe. Robert has also had a role in Corrie as Liam Connor. Hannah is a British actress, born in London. However, in the live-action series, Musa … She also played Wallis Simpson in the 2010 film The King's Speech. It is also unknown how much she earns for starring in Netflix's new series, Fate: The Winx Saga. For further details of our complaints policy and to make a complaint please click this link: .uk/editorial-complaints/, Fate: The Winx Saga tells the story of five teenage fairies, Abigail Cowen plays Dorcas Night on Netflix's Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Hannah van der Westhuysen is a British actress, born in London. Developed by Brian Young, the series is actually inspired by the Nickelodeon animated series Winx Club, which was created by Iginio Straffi. You may recognise him as the evil Thomas Barrow in Downton Abbey. Fans of the original Winx Club cartoon won't see a lot of similarities in Netflix's new live-action adaptation, Fate: The Winx Saga.

[dudesrysly]

*Thomas starts unbuttoning the jacket*: it’s so hot in here.

Richard: I know, but why are you unbuttoning my jacket?

[papa-evershed]

Rob James-Collier as Thomas Barrow DOWNTON ABBEY S02EP02

[gayspaekles]

Two key points worth mentioning from the Downton abbey wiki page.. “romantically attached to Richard Ellis’ and George Crawley being listed first under Thomas’ “loyalty” 🥲🥰 I just can’t.

[callsign-fangirl]

Just saw downton abbey!!! Can't believe they actually let Thomas be happy! 😭🥺😍

[stephanleyhes]

Can't believe Robert really asked Bates who would have it in for Thomas. Like anyone downstairs 🙈

[misunderstoodbarrow]